Werewolf Bets
by oony
Summary: Werewolf fighting is a most profitable and exciting sporting event. For some, at any rate.


Rating of PG-13.

I do not own the characters, JKR does. I simply borrow them.

Werewolf fighting is a most profitable and exciting sporting event. For some, at any rate.

The subject of dog fighting for 'good fun' disgusts me in the most extreme sense.

Werewolf Bets

–

Three hooded figures sat at a table at the very back of a pub in the heart of Knockturn Alley. They were talking amongst themselves in hushed voices and dozens of Firewhisky bottles in various states of fullness—or emptiness—were scattered about the scarred table topped. The man that was seated between his companions pushed back his hood in order to sweep the thick hair out of his eyes. He took a long swig from his fifth drink.

"I'll raise you eight Galleons, Greyback," the man said in a husky voice as he plunged a hand into his robe pocket and threw the eight golden Galleons into the center of the table carelessly.

The man that sat to the right of this man snorted and added his eight glimmering coins to the already large, and steadily growing, pile.

"Feeling rather confident this month, Lupin?" The man called Greyback hissed. "So, how about it, Malfoy? Are you in or not?"

"Last one," a man with blond hair that spilled from beneath his hood drawled lazily. "Of course, my bet is to you, Greyback," he said with a slight incline of his head to the aforementioned werewolf.

This statement caused Greyback to smirk broadly across the table at Lupin. Lupin merely rolled his eyes back at him none too discreetly.

"Fine, it'll be your loss."

With that parting mutter, he snatched the slip of parchment holding a record of their stakes from Malfoy and slipped out of the pub, leaving the other two men behind to pay for his drinks.

–

Later that night, Lupin arrived home on unsteady legs. A steaming goblet of sobering potion, quickly followed by an even less tasteful one to cure his hangover, seized his body and set him right at once. He stole a quick glance at the calendar on the wall in the kitchen before hobbling toward the living room.

The day circled in red was only four days away. He only had four days until the moon was fat and round. Only four days to prepare. But at the moment, that seemed to be the last thing on his exhausted mind as he started toward the couch.

Before he could even reach it, he collapsed on the floor and was out cold in a matter of seconds.

At the top of the stairs a young boy sat quietly, watching his father stumbled about in the darkened living room. He had the same dark hair as his father. It hung limply to the nape of his neck and his haunted amber eyes regarded his father's prone body pityingly.

Remus sighed and hugged his knees to his chest tightly. He hid his face in them. He no longer wanted to do this. No longer did he care for how much money his dad make off of this horrible arrangement. No longer did he care how much they _needed it—we need it Remus, honey, to buy some milk and bread so be a good boy and listen to Daddy and give me thirty more push ups, they'll make you big and strong._

No longer.

It was painful. Humiliating. Cruel. Sick.

Remus Lupin would fight no longer.

–

Four days later, however, Remus found himself in the familiar deep pit. He was all alone in the pit with another boy his own age.

Above them, a group of people had already gathered. Black cloaks that hid their bodies and faces whirled about their ankles. Remus didn't even look up at them as they jeered. He hugged his unclothed body tightly and studied the other boy carefully. He was new, Remus could tell by the way his head snapped wildly around to take in all the sights and sounds.

The people above cheered and jeered loudly. It hurt Remus' ears. They threw things into the pit as they waited for the moon to rise.

Werewolf fighting had been a favorite form of entertainment dating far back to medieval times. Two werewolves were placed in a confided area and pitted against each other. It was a test of the fittest. A sporting competition to the death.

It was easy enough to understand which was probably why it attracted such a large audience of all ages. Whichever werewolf killed the other won. Simplicity defined. Or whichever one came off the better of the two in same cases. Wizards and witches of all sorts would gather to watch as one of the world's most cruelest and most realistic laws was epitomized.

As a norm, it was very rare for werewolves to fight against one another., except for personal matters of mates, hierarchy positions, and territory. This slight problem was quickly realized and easily solved.

The observers' snide remarks drove them on. That and their firecrackers, whips, branding sticks, silver, and the temptation of a single piece of meat. Normally some sort of human limb. To the displeasure of some, the sport had been made illegal about thirty years back.

This only made it more of an enjoyment for a number of people, many Death Eaters in that total.

Remus knew that the moon would be rising very soon. His legs were unsteady under him and his head was pounding with a terrible headache. His skin felt too tight on his body and he was trembling visibly.

The clouds parted as the moon mounted higher and higher into the sky. It's bright light shone down into the pit. Remus screamed, he was screaming so loudly that he couldn't hear the other boy's voice over his own.

Every bone in his body snapped and twisted to form the new frame of the wolf. Muscles pulled off his limbs and rapped themselves around the new skeletal frame. His skin shifted with the movements of his inner body and dark brown and silver grew to cover his shivering body.

A tail extended from his tail bone and worked it's way through the different layers until the last the transformation was nearing completion. His canines sharpened and lengthened. Palms to Paws. His nose stretched, ears pointed, and lastly his eyes changed to a sharp almond in shape and a deadly yellow hue.

The transformation itself only took a few mere minutes, but the pain continued to reverberate in the very marrow of his newly formed bones.

At first, Moony was dazed. He was on the ground, panting heavily with his ears and eyes on high alert. The sent of prey reached his nose and he was up in an instant, howling and growling and attempting to claw his way up the side of the pit to get to the people above.

A man brandished a whip at him. It struck him sharply in the flank and, with a yelp, Moony fell backwards and fell heavily on his side. He shook himself and got back up, pacing the bottom of the pit.

The ringing noise of laughter reached his ears and he paced faster. Moony almost ran into the other wolf in the process. He snarled at him for getting in his way and started throwing himself against the steep wall. A limb of meat in the form of a rotting arm was thrown into the pit and Moony stopped.

He raced toward it and sank his fangs into the detached arm. He went to tug it back when he found that it was being pulled forward.

Moony looked up and locked his yellow eyes with those of his challenger. They growled deeply in their throats at one another and started to tug viciously. At last, Moony let go and lunged for his opponent. The other wolf dodged him and started to circle the pit's perimeter opposite of Moony. They left the meat forgotten in the middle.

For what seemed like an eternity they just prowled and circled each other. Threatening one another and looking for the perfect chance to attack. Moony made the first move.

He crouched low and sprung onto the chocolate brown wolf's back. He sank his claws into his back and took a firm hold of the back of the back of the neck with his teeth. The wolf beneath Moony howled and thrashed in pain. It stumbled around with Moony on his back until he rolled on the ground to shake him off.

It had begun.

Nearly an hour later left Moony the victor. He stood over the other wolf's dead body.

His muzzle was stained with blood and the dark fluid dripped from his panting mouth. His body trembled from pain and exhaustion. He was marred with fresh gashes, blood, sweat, and saliva. He nosed at his prize in confusion when a steel chain link collar was thrown around his neck and he was being hauled out of the pit.

"Careful there," John called absentmindedly, waving his winnings high over his head. "That's _my _champ you're dealing with. My little money maker."

Moony tried to snap at the six wizards that dragged him into a tunnel that led away from the pit, but other chains were thrown on him and he was simply too weak to fight back anymore. The strange men threw him into the back of a small, dark, and cold iron wrought cage. They laughed as the wolf whimpered and lay down in defeat, licking the wounds on his mangled body.

One man drew what looked like a red candle from his pocket. He ignited it with his wand and threw it into Moony's cage. It landed near his flank and exploded.

With a yelp, a few pained whines, and a tail tucked between his legs, Moony fled to a shadowed corner of his small cage. More laughter followed him and his ears laid flat on his head.

Two fresh werewolves were dragged from their cages to enter the pit.

As the wolves' howling and snarling died away, Moony curled into a tight ball, nose to tail. He tried to block out the pain that kept him from sleep.

–

Remus' sixteenth birthday present was a Memory Charm to block out all incidents of his werewolf fighting career.

Nineteen-year-old Remus Lupin surfaced out of the memory that swirled in the shallow stone basin below him. His amber eyes were silently flooding his pale face with thin, wet tears. He ran the sleeve of his worn sweater across his face.

Very slowly, he turned in the dark room. The only light came from the silvery blue light that came from the basin swirling with memories.

"I bet you enjoyed yourself," Remus' voice was soft, but the bitterness couldn't be hidden as he addressed a corner in the back of the room that was consumed in total darkness.

He was answered with a long spell of silence.

Remus growled softly in the back of his throat and muttered an incantation under his breath. A ball of blazing blue flames formed in his right palm, flooding the room with quiet light. The flames danced across the features of an older looking version of himself, mind the eyes and few gray hairs.

His father's hair hang lank in his face and his hands limply to his side. His legs were slightly parted and grounded firmly. He looked as if he were expecting the younger man to strike him at any moment.

"I can't believe that you kept that from for two years." Remus wasn't even bothering to keep the disgust from his voice. It was a moment before the reply drifted back to his ears.

"Three years," John Lupin corrected quietly.

"Pardon me, _three _years."

"Remus, please—"

"Please what? What do you want, _Father_?" He spat the word as though it was something filthy.

The older wizard upturned his head slowly, his eyes catching Remus' cold ones.

"Remus, please. I'm so sorry." Remus had to hold back the harsh words that were eager to pass through his lips. "Please forgive me, son." His voice wasn't even a whisper, just his mouth forming the words.

Remus stepped in closer towards his father and leaned in close with his lips against his ear.

"It isn't in a murderer's heart to forgive."

With that he stepped back. His father's gaze never left his as he raised his right palm to his lips and blew out the flickering blue flame.

Quiet footfalls retreated across the room and the click of the door announced Remus' exit. John hid his face in his hands.

It had started to rain outside.

–


End file.
